Ex Libris
by rainpuddle13
Summary: Ross had his life planned out: university then enlist in the army. Anything really get to away from Cornwall and all it meant to be a Poldark there only to find himself right back where he started five years later with his life in ruins. He accepts a position teaching history at the Truro School and settles into monotony that is until a pretty redheaded librarian comes along.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the estate of Winston Graham, various publishers including but not limited to Pan Macmillan and the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction.

 **Author's Notes:** Originally inspired by the {AU Meme: Poldark  & Teacching} by princessofpoldark on Tumblr. Thank you to Nokomiss for the beta read as always. A special thank you to Shiparker for being an all-around fabulous idea-bouncer and cheerleader.

Please do not archive elsewhere without permission.

* * *

"You do know there are laws against stalking."

His cousin's voice had nearly made him jump out of his skin in the quiet of the library. Thankfully there were no students around to disturb because calling attention to what he was about was the last thing he wanted to do. Putting on his best gruff voice, Ross rounded on her, "And you should know better than to sneak up on a former soldier."

She just smiled sweetly and reached up to adjust the collar of his dark gray tweed jacket. "You could just ask her to the cinema."

"I was looking for a book," he huffed and tried to brush past her.

"In the technology section? Hardly." She followed him out of the stacks to the seating area of the busy school library. "I know Napoleon was many things, but I don't recall him being an engineer."

"What do you want from me, Verity?"

"For you to be happy, my dear."

"You don't think that I am?"

"No," she said softly with a shake of her head.

Ross moved swiftly despite having to use a cane for occasional support. Someday he'd hope to be able to go about his business without it, but today was not going to be that day. He knew he should count himself lucky that he at least still had use of his leg after the horrific injuries he'd sustained when the armored vehicle he was riding in ran over an IED. His face had healed nicely from the being hit with flying metal and glass except for the long scar on the left side of his face from the eyebrow to nearly his jaw. Afghanistan seemed like a like a lifetime ago.

Since his aspirations for a distinguished military career were cut short, he'd found himself at loose ends upon his return to Cornwall. His father was in declining health. The family estate was crumbling down around them. His girlfriend had broken up with him the last time he'd been home on leave before he was injured and had since married his cousin and they had just had their first child. Everything he ever thought his life was going to be had gone to shite.

Now he found himself on another type of battlefield, one no less civilized than the poppy fields and mountains, however the chances of being shot at or blown up were greatly reduced: instructor of world history at the Truro School. His specialty when he was studying history at Oxford was the Napoleonic Wars. He'd found his second calling in life in the classroom.

"Well, you're wrong," he groused. He absolutely hated that Verity knew him almost better than he knew himself, but it had always been that way. "I'm perfectly happy."

"Sure you are. C'mon to my office for a cup of tea. I know you have planning for the next hour or else you'd not be lurking in the stacks."

"I'm not going to ask her to anything," he said with utmost finality after he shut the door and took a seat in the obscenely organized office. There was a color and symbol system that completely escaped him. No one should be that neat and orderly. It was unnatural.

Verity set about fixing two cups of tea from the always-at-the-ready electric kettle. "She knows."

"She knows what?"

Verity smiled that knowing little smile of hers. "That you fancy her."

"I do no such thing." The words felt false even as he said them, not that it would amount to much of anything.

"You've brought your sixth form class twice without prior notice and you've been in during your planning or lunch periods most days this week."

That he was definitely guilty of doing, but it still didn't mean he was interested in the lovely Ms. Carne. "I'm a historian, Verity. I spend a lot of time in libraries doing research."

"Researching pretty gingers?" she asked laughing. "What era does she date from? Surely not the 1820s!"

"Napoleon reigned 1804 to 1814 and again in 1815; and you're not as amusing as you think you are."

"Andrew begs to differ and he finds it highly amusing you're as smitten as a kitten with the junior librarian."

He narrowed his eyes over the teacup he held to his lips. "Have I told you how much I hate you lately?"

"Ross," undeterred by his attempts to put her off, she reached across the desk to take his free hand in her warm one, "not every woman is Elizabeth. It's been nearly four years. It's time. Demelza is lovely and I think you'd really like her if you gave her half a chance."

All he could do was shake his head because every fiber of his being was railing against what his cousin was suggesting. It was impossible. "She's too young."

"She's twenty-two and you'll be thirty this January. That isn't such a difference. Remember Andrew is nearly fifteen years older than I am and we're happy."

"I said no, Verity. Leave it be." He put down the heavy ceramic mug from the British Library before it ended up smashed against the wall. Verity wouldn't appreciate that.

She scoffed at him and he could see her getting her stubborn Poldark up. "I will not."

"Are you really going to make me say it?"

"Yes. I want to hear what pathetic excuse you'll come up with this time." She sat back in her chair, one hand resting lovingly on her noticeable baby bump, and looked expectantly at him. Whatever he had to say was not going to impress her.

"No woman in her right mind wants a damaged man."

"You're more of a fool than I thought."

It was a circular argument that had lasted years and it was starting to get a little old. He knew damn well he had nothing left to offer a woman. He had seen that particular truth on Elizabeth's face when he first returned to Cornwall and she'd come to see him without Francis in tow. The look of pity in her soulful brown eyes when she saw the brace on his leg, the crutches, and newly healed red gash on his face. He vowed right then he would never be a burden to anyone.

"You don't understand," he said with a note of finality.

"No," Verity said like she was speaking to a naughty child, "you don't understand that half the women in this building would toss over their husbands to get their claws into you."

"That isn't true," Ross said in protest. Not that he paid that much attention to those around him, at least not since he got back since there were much more important things demanding his attention.

"Oh it is, believe me. I hear the talk in the staff canteen after you leave." He shook his head even as she continued, "Fine, don't believe me." Verity conceded, shocking the hell out of him. She'd been a bit like a dog with a bone when it came to him ever since they were children, she being two years older and believing it was her place to mother him. "Then let me ask a favor of you."

Ross did not like the direction this was heading. "I'll make no promises."

"Could you please give Demelza a lift home this afternoon?"

All he could do was arch a questioning eyebrow at his cousin's audacity.

"I must leave early for a doctor's appointment. She walks nearly three kilometers to and from because she doesn't know how to drive. I give her a lift when the weather is bad and it's supposed to turn nasty this afternoon."

It'd been meant as trap. He knew it. Not that Verity was very subtle about this time around. A blind man could've seen this manipulation masked as a sweet bit of do-gooding coming. "The chess group meets this afternoon so I don't know how late I'll be."

"Can't you ask George to cover for you?"

He snorted. "I'd rather die than ask a favor of him."

"Ah, well, I thought I'd ask. I'll have to let her know I'm leaving early. I hope she doesn't catch her death then." She left it right there, with a small smile before taking a sip of her tea. "How is Uncle Joshua?"

"He's getting on as well as can be expected, all things considered," Ross answered, thankful for the shift of conversation as they lapsed into more mundane topics until he had to return to prepare for his two afternoon classes.

When the rain and wind began to pelt the tall windows of his second floor classroom shortly after his Early History of Britain class started, he grumbled under his breath about meddlesome cousins who don't know how to mind their own fucking business. Thoughts of the pretty redhead kept him distracted most of the afternoon, especially thoughts of her dripping wet and her clothing clinging to her just so.

He was not going to give into Verity's attempts at match making.

He was not.

It was beneath his dignity.

Damn Verity all to hell. She knew him entirely too well. In truth since Elizabeth broke off their engagement, he hadn't had the interest in another relationship. Too much effort to only result in bitter disappointment in the end. It was better to not be bothered. Any needs he had were met with a visit to one of the local women who specialized in such matters, although he'd lost interest in meaningless evenings with tawdry women a long time ago.

This thing with the young librarian was a passing fancy because he was feeling a bit lonely.

It would go away.

He was sure of it.

"Damnit," he groused, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in a losing attempt to quell his errant thoughts. A pounding headache wasn't far behind.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Poldark?"

Sinead McHenry's question drew him away from his dark thoughts. She was one of his favorite students and his secret weapon on the chess team. Boys underestimated her because of her pretty face and he enjoyed watching her crush them with her brain. There was nothing more exciting than a smart woman. "Yes, yes, I've just got a lot on my mind," Ross answered.

"It looks like it's going to be a hell of a storm," she continued, stepping up beside him at the rain splattered windows.

The wind was really starting to whip the rain with the occasional chinking of hail against the glass. He wouldn't be surprised if there was thunder once the storm really got going. It was weather not fit for living creatures. Even the ever present seagulls had gone to ground to ride it out.

"Looks that way."

"It'll turn cold later."

"You're probably right."

Sinead used her finger to draw a star in the condensation forming on the glass. "Might even turn to snow for a bit."

Guilt was starting to gnaw at his conscience. It was a setup as plain as the day was long, he knew it in his bones, but his cousin knew his weakness, his inability to allow his fellow man, or in this case woman, suffer if he had means to help. Damnit all to fucking bloody hell. "Sinead, you're in charge for ten minutes. I've got to run an errand."

"Yes, sir," she said sweetly, but her knowing smirk told him she knew exactly what he was about. Verity was good, better than he anticipated since it was obvious she had employed his favorite student to do her dirty work. Point to her.

The object of his consternation was with a student at the reference desk going over the finer points citing images in a research paper when Ross arrived in the library, and she smiled over the boy's head when she noticed him lingering near the doorway. Ms. Carne motioned for him to give her another minute or two.

"Mr. Poldark, what can I do for you?" she asked when she came around the desk to stand near him. "I'm afraid you've exhausted our meager Napoleon resources already." She was wearing black trousers and a deep green cardigan over an off white turtleneck blouse, and he was very sorry he couldn't feast his eyes on her legs this time around. It was the one thing he most looked forward to each time he brought his class around.

"Ross, please," he insisted.

"Ross," she echoed in a soft voice that made his insides nearly turn to liquid.

"I know Verity left early today," he started, feeling rather flustered under her gaze, thinking of all the things she could do for him. He cleared his throat.

"Oh," she said, clearly puzzled. Obviously his cousin hadn't informed her of the plan.

"The weather. She asked. Didn't want you getting soaked. Said you might need a lift."

"That's very kind of you. I know you live near Sawle." A single red curl escaped her messy bun and she absently tucked it behind her ear while she spoke. "It's my late evening. I don't want to put you out."

"What time?"

"I'm off at six. I don't want to keep you."

"I'm afraid I have to insist," he said gravely.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. It was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. "I'm sorry?"

"Verity. She told me to give you a lift. If I don't, she'll see me dead."

"Oh," Demelza said with a small laugh, "I can't allow that to happen then. Verity is much too kind for prison life."

That got a guffaw out of him. Verity might be outwardly nice, but she was made of stern stuff and would not go down easily. He learned that the hard way. "She's tougher than you think."

She sobered up with a quick nod. "I'm sure she is."

"About six then?" he asked, turning his glare on the audience of students that had gathered to watch the happenings. "I have chess so I'm here late anyway."

Demelza fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan. "Only if you're sure."

"More than sure," he said, smiling a little to show her he was sincere.

"Yes, six then. Thank you." He could've sworn she was blushing a bit when she turned back to the waiting students.

The next hour and half of his life was the longest stretch of time he had ever done in his life. Most of it was spent wishing he'd dressed with a bit more care. He really was turning into the dodgy old professor type complete with tweed jacket and rumpled oxford shirt, but then he was lucky to have clean clothing most days. And his car was in even worse shape. Hopefully she wouldn't notice.

The rest of the time he spent rehearsing potential topics of conversations he might have with Demelza. Work was definitely out. No one wanted to talk about that after just leaving the salt mines. Maybe he could ask her around the pub if the weather wasn't too nasty. There would be some sort of sporting event on the telly. Hopefully she liked football. Rugby might be asking too much, but he could dream. He'd have to ring his father to tell him he'd be home late. He made a note to remind himself to grade Sinead's next paper with extra care to get her back for knowing smirk when he dismissed practice.

"I didn't keep you waiting too long did I?" he asked, limping his way to the door that lead out to the employee car park. The last thing he wanted was to call attention to his injury. It always resulted in unwanted prying questions. Damn the weather all to hell.

"I only just got here," she said brightly while in the process of wrapping a purple striped scarf around her neck. The long brown wool coat she wore enveloped her completely, hiding her slender frame from his roving eyes. "How was practice?"

"It was good. There's a county tournament coming up in a few weeks. I think we're prepared," he said boastfully.

"I'm sure they'll do us proud."

"Do you play?"

Demelza smiled shyly. "No I don't I'm sorry to say."

"That's too bad. It's one of the oldest games in the world. The game of kings." He looked down to make sure the flap on his battered old brown leather briefcase was secure because he couldn't handle looking at her just then. She was entirely too much.

"I know. I've always wanted to learn how to play," she said.

"There's some good how-to sites online." He pushed open the door and was nearly blown back by a particularly strong gust of wind. "Shall we?"

She opened her umbrella with great difficulty and stepped out into nature's fury. "Into the breach."

Thankfully he was parked close to the building, but he was pretty sure he ended up looking like a half-drown cat after opening the door of his old black Range Rover for her and having to clear the seat of accumulated detritus before hurrying around to his side while she got in. There was nothing like autumn in Cornwall.

The drive to where Demelza lived was much quieter than he anticipated after the embarrassment of The Clash's "Rudie Can't Fail" blasting ear shatteringly loud when he started the engine. The conversation consisted mostly of her directions sprinkled with apologies for keeping him out in this kind of weather.

Just being that near her was wreaking havoc on his senses. She smelled of flowers, he had no idea what kind of flowers, just she smelled nice and he liked that. He hadn't been this aware of a woman in his presence since he first noticed Elizabeth. Maybe Caroline, but she was never really in play. This with Demelza was somehow different though and he wasn't sure what do with it yet.

"The middle one right there." Demelza's voice brought him out of his dark thoughts. "I'm afraid to say it's not much, but it's home."

He pulled to the kerb in front of a long row of terrace houses. Hers was the one with a green door, a front window full of plants, and a tattered front garden that would be in even worse shape once the storm was done with it. The street Demelza lived on was not in the nicest section of Truro by any stretch of the imagination. Whatever the school was paying junior librarians, it definitely was not enough.

"No worries," he said automatically, not wanting her to feel ashamed about the state of her home. It wasn't like Nampara was in much better shape.

"I'd ask you in…" she started to say only to trail off when a heavy gust caused the car to rock a bit.

Ross said, oddly disappointed that none of his hasty plans he'd thought of earlier were going to come to fruition, "It looks to be a bad tonight."

Demelza brushed several windblown curls from her face and such a simple act made his stomach do a flip. "I should go in and not keep you any longer."

"Yeah," he mumbled, grasping for any reason to make her stay with him another few minutes.

"Thank you again." She reached for the door handle and glanced at him, smiling. "It was very kind of you."

"Just doing Verity a favor." The words were out before he could stop them and he watched as her face fell.

"Oh."

He could only watch as she hurried from the car to the front door without a backward glance. It was only after she'd slammed the door shut that he banged his head on the steering wheel several times muttering to himself about being a stupid fucking bastard.

Matters were made even worse the next morning when he arrived to work only to find a small silver biscuit tin tied with a red ribbon bow in his mail cubby in the administration office. He'd had a restless night and three cups of strong black coffee before he'd left had done nothing to alleviate his foul mood. Unexpected gifts was just the cherry on top.

"I think someone's sweet on you, Mr. Poldark," Mrs. Choake, the office secretary, chirped, getting up from her desk to come stand at the counter. She was one of the biggest gossips at the school. "Wonder who it is?"

It was all he could do to keep from telling her to fuck off so he mumbled morning greetings and made his way to the early morning sanctuary of his classroom before reading the attached note written in a neat hand in purple ink on cheap plain cream linen paper.

 _Dear Ross,_

 _Thank you again for the lift home yesterday afternoon. It was kind of you to go out of your way for me. I made chocolate dipped shortbread for you. I hope you enjoy._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Demelza Carne_

Ross was quite sure that Demelza will have told his cousin just how rude he was before the morning was out. Verity was never going to let him hear the end of this.

The shortbread was obscenely delicious. He did not share.

* * *

*Ex Libris (eks _lee_ -bris) Latin – from the library (of)


	2. Part II

They danced around one another for another week. He avoided going to the library more or less to avoid facing Verity and the things she surely had to say, but the downside to that was that he did not get to see Demelza. She must think he was the most ill-bred person alive after he sent her an email to thank her for the shortbread instead of going to see her.

He was a coward plain and simple, afraid to face two women. Verity he could handle. He'd had years of practice in disappointing her. It was Demelza that he was truly afraid to see. He'd fucked things up with her before there was even a thing to fuck up. It surely must be some sort of record. He was not fit to interact with women to whom he was not related and that was all there was to it.

It was times like these he was glad his mother was dead so she couldn't see what an idiot he'd grown up to be. She'd died well before he was of an age to appreciate her beyond just being his mother. Somewhere deep down inside he still longed to make her proud. Too bad he turned out to be such a miserable wanker.

His whole life was an embarrassment really, and then being the son of the notorious Joshua Poldark, one would think he'd have at least a modicum of common sense when it came to the fairer sex, but apparently that was not the case. His father had nearly every male in three counties out for his head because he couldn't leave a beautiful woman alone save the decade of his marriage. He'd been utterly devoted to his wife.

Instead of following in his father's footsteps, Ross had fallen head over heels in love with Elizabeth Chynoweth the moment he'd laid eyes on her at a dance just before he was to head off to university. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his life: tall and slender, long golden brown hair, and dark soulful eyes. She was like a flower in first bloom: delicate and fragile and breathtaking. Her parents took an instant dislike to him with his family reputation preceding him. His father said very little, but looked grim anytime her name was mentioned. The disapproval was palpable. He saw Elizabeth regularly despite the opposition from all sides. Within six months Ross knew that she was the only woman he'd ever love. It was serious for the both of them. Teary promises had been made when he enlisted in army; promises she would break nearly four years later when she toss him over to marry his cousin.

"Ross!"

"George." He stuffed his hands in his pockets to quell the urge to wrap his fingers around the other man's thick neck and squeeze with all his might. It'd been that way between them since they were at school together. If there was such thing as physical hatred, then Ross well and truly fucking hated George Warleggan. He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

"I dare say you're a hard man to find these days." George came to stand beside him just outside of his classroom door during class change, clasping his hands behind his back. "The bum leg bothering you that much?"

"I've been busy grading projects," Ross answered, ignoring the question altogether. The last thing he wanted was pity from that bastard. "What brings you to this side of the building?"

George could bare contain his contempt for the students hurrying through the halls. "I was thinking of throwing a little gathering for Saturday."

"I'm busy."

"All work and no play makes Ross a rather dull boy wouldn't you say?"

He was done pussyfooting around because he was in no mood for playing nice. "What do you really want, George?"

"I was thinking of asking the new librarian, you know, the ginger one with the long legs, inject some fresh blood into the party. Do you know her?" The glint in George's eyes told Ross he already knew the answer to that particular question. Mrs. Choake had been very busy indeed.

"We're acquainted."

"That is what I thought."

"She's not your sort, George," Ross said all but growling as jealousy roiled up from somewhere deep inside and it was all he could do to keep it tamped down. His arch enemy didn't need any more ammunition with which to goad him.

Unfortunately, George was smarter than he looked. "The into the Queen and Country martyr sort is she?"

"No," he hissed, "she's just a nice girl who doesn't need to get mixed up with your lot."

George nodded. "I see."

"I'm sure you do."

"Are you sure Caroline and Dwight can't drag you along? There will be gaming and drinking. I think you'd enjoy an evening out. You could stay at the house in town since the drive out to the country is rather dire."

Ross plastered a smile on. He liked living the country. "I'll pass."

"Shall I give Elizabeth your regards? She and Francis will be there, of course," George said with a slight edge of malice.

Just when Ross thought he couldn't hate George any more he dangles a carrot on a stick in front his nose. Ross had to bite back a hiss. "Do what you want, George."

"I always do," George called over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

Having to speak to George for five minutes made him wish he was the sort of teacher who kept a bottle of whisky hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk for emergencies. Now he would be spending the rest of the day wondering if George would make good on his threat to invite Demelza to one of his pretentious house parties. She'd probably go too. The very thought made him feel sick.

Normally he lived for the days in the classroom when he could work acting out a battle into the lesson plan and his students really seemed to love it. History might be the study of the past, but it didn't have to be boring, or at least not if Ross could help it. Today was the Battle of Bosworth, the last significant battle of the War of the Roses, and the death of Richard III in August 1485. A lively lesson with all the interest surrounding the discovery of the former king's long lost remains a few years ago beneath a Leicester car park where Greyfriars Priory Church had once stood.

Now he wished he'd given them an exam instead so he could sit at his desk and wallow in self-pity while his students suffered as much as he did. How could this little slip of a girl with red hair, long legs, and fabulous shortbread take over his life after a few meetings and one car ride on a windy and wet afternoon? And now George was sniffing around. Damn him.

A knock at the door stopped him mid-sentence in relaying the thrilling story of how Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, whose army was outnumbered, won the day on the King's foolish gamble to charge the field to kill his rival and put an end to the battle. The spell had been broken and the student closest to the door went to see who it was interrupting the lesson.

"May I speak to you a moment, Mr. Poldark?" Demelza asked sheepishly after slipping inside the doorway. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting."

"It's fine." He stepped out into the quiet hallway with her and pulled the door behind him after telling the students to carry on and not draw any blood because it required too much paperwork on his end of things. "I asked you to call me Ross."

"Ross," she said, his name rolling off her tongue like fine silk and it made his insides feel a bit wibbly, "I know I shouldn't be bothering you right now, but I've come to ask you to dinner before I lost my nerve."

"Pardon?"

"Dinner. My flat. I'll cook," she said hurriedly, biting her lip and looking expectantly up at him.

It took him a second to recover the ability to think straight. "I'd like that."

"You would?"

"Yes."

She beamed. "Saturday?"

"Saturday is fine." Ross nodded, mesmerized by the light in her blue eyes. George either hadn't gotten to her yet or she much preferred his company to the weasel's. Either way he was inordinately pleased.

"About seven then?" She was practically bouncing with excitement.

This woman was entirely too much and he was unsure how to deal with her. "Are you sure about this after I was a rude bugger to you?"

"I'm willing to take my chances," she retorted with a laugh. "Seven?"

"Seven it is. Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself is fine." He made a mental note to pick up flowers and a bottle of wine. It was proper etiquette after all.

"Is there anything you don't like?" she asked, turning all business like. "Allergies I should know about?"

"Nope," he said with a head shake, "I'm one of those blokes that'll eat anything put before him so long as he doesn't have to cook it."

She tsked him. "Men."

"What can I say?" he asked with a shrug and a rueful smile.

"Not a thing. I'll see you Saturday," she said. He watched her walk away down the corridor until she disappeared from sight. She was wearing a dark pencil skirt and blue jumper today, both of which accentuated her slender waist and the gentle flare of her hips. There were more than a few faces pressed against the glass inset of the classroom door when he turned his attention back to the room full of teenagers. A couple of his braver students whistled and cat called when he came in, but he shut that shite down with threat of extra homework.

The first thing Ross noticed when he approached the door at 7:03 p.m. (no one need know he had been driving around the block since 6:30 p.m.) was the smell of something absolutely mouthwatering wafting in the air. Demelza answered the door almost immediately after he knocked and it was no wonder because her flat wasn't bigger than minute. He took a seat in a deep green chair that was surprisingly comfortable after a few moments of awkwardness greeting one another. She'd gone to put the flowers in water and the wine in the kitchen.

The flat was shabby, not unexpected with a building that old and in the area that was in, but neat and clean, a mix of second hand and cheap Ikea furniture. Her vivid personality was all over the place from the bright pillows on the ugly brown sofa to cheerful curtains on the windows and the plants crowding the two front window sills. No television. The radio in the kitchen was playing BBC Eire, not that she understood a word mind, but enjoyed the comforting murmur in the background. It was warm and inviting, but devoid of family photographs anywhere. It was odd that, the mantle shelf at Nampara was overcrowded with pictures.

"I'm sorry I don't have wine glasses," she offered as an apology, handing him a drinking glass about a third of the way filled with white wine and took a seat on the sofa, curling her legs under her. She was barefoot. Her toenails were painted purple.

"It's fine. We rarely bother at home unless we have company." He held the glass, too busy watching her to taste the wine he spent half an hour selecting.

"I'm just starting out. My first real flat. I don't have a lot of the basics yet."

He liked the utter lack of pretension about Demelza and how so very different she was from most of the women he knew. Something else about her to be admired. "No worries. We all have to start somewhere."

"Verity told me you live with your father. That he'd had a stroke some years back and you help take care of things for him."

"I help run what's left the family estate. Rather poorly I might add, but I do what I can," he said, not wanting her to get the wrong impression of him.

Demelza sat her glass next to a library copy of _The Hobbit_ with a bookmark about halfway through laying on the white wicker trunk she used as a coffee table. He approved of her reading choice. "That is to be admired. Is your father able to get around?"

"He potters around the house mostly. His doctor says if he'd do his exercises regularly he'd be more mobile, but Father's a Poldark through and through."

"Meaning he's hard of head?"

"That's being generous," Ross said with a laugh. "You've got the right of us already."

She tried not to smile and failed. "I've had fair warning."

"Only half is true I assure you." There was no telling what stories Verity had been regaling her with over the last few days.

"Only half?"

"Maybe a third," he teased, enjoying the blush on her cheek at his wink. "And what of you?"

"I have custody of my youngest brother, Drake. He's boarding at the Camborne Science and International Academy."

That explained the state of things in the household. Most everything she earned must go toward the boy's tuition and fees, leaving her very little to scrape by on to live. "How old is he?"

"He's just turned fifteen," she said proudly, "and doing very well in school."

Ross couldn't help but be impressed. "Drake must be very smart. I understand it's very difficult to get into that school."

"He's scary smart. He wants to be a structural engineer, build bridges."

They lapsed into silence since he wanted to ask about her family, but he could sense that was a topic that was best left for another time. Ross watched her pluck at the knitted throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa before she looked up suddenly with a grim look of determination on her face. "You must be wondering why I asked you over," she said finally.

"I'm sure you have your reasons." He'd pondered that very question for the past for days, rejecting every conclusion he'd drawn since each one was more outlandish than the last.

She took a breath before plunging in."I'm new here. I don't have many friends beyond Verity and Andrew. They've been so kind to me these past few months. I don't know what I would've done without them."

"They're good people," he agreed. His cousin most definitely was. He didn't know where he'd be today if it wasn't for her keeping him from going over the edge when he finally returned home permanently injured and bitter. Her husband, well, Ross still has his doubts about him, but so far he'd been the stand up sort.

"I thought I needed to branch out a bit, make some new friends so I wouldn't be quite so dependent upon them with the baby coming and all."

"So you thought you'd give me a test drive so to speak?" This was something he really wanted to know because he still didn't believe Verity's assertion this woman was interested in him.

"Yes, sorta," she laughed. "Verity suggested you after I failed miserably with Ruth Treneglos. She works in the admissions office. Do you know her?"

"Ruth is a bitch," he said baldly, not bothering to hide his contempt. He made the mistake of getting tangled up with her while they were at school. The more he got to know her, the less he thought of her. "You can do much better."

"She's a bit…snobby." Her nose wrinkled as she spoke.

Ross chuckled, amused by her obvious desire not to say anything impolite about the woman. "You are far too kind, Demelza."

"I don't know about that."

"I can assure you it's true."

A timer in the kitchen sounded with a jarring ring and she got up from the sofa, stretching. The t-shirt she wore rode up enough to give him a tantalizing peek of her flat stomach. "I do hope you're hungry."

"I could eat a horse," he said, following her into the small room at the back of the flat that served as a kitchen.

The meal of steak and mushroom pie and roasties followed with an apple charlotte for pudding passed in companionable conversation. Demelza was smart and witty, giving as good as she got, and Ross found himself enjoying her company more and more. Reading was how she passed most of her free time, that and attempting to knit with varying results. Verity was trying to teach her, but she was fairly certain she was a lost cause. She even liked sports. The only problem was she supported Arsenal mostly because she thought Olivier Giroud and Aaron Ramsey were rather handsome.

"So why with the librarian?" he asked, forking up tender steak and mushrooms. "You don't really seem the type."

"It wasn't my first love, but I do like libraries," she said with a sigh. "It was just the most convenient because I could do the course online."

"So you didn't attend university?"

"I was too busy working."

He frowned. "You had no one to help you?"

Demelza looked down at her plate as she shook her head, making it clear she was uncomfortable talking about her past. "I went to work as soon as I was old enough to get a job."

Things might not have always been good at home, but his father had made sure that he had what he needed growing up. He couldn't begin to imagine what sort of hell her childhood might've been like if she'd gone to work that early. Verity had warned him she'd had a rough upbringing. It was clear that was an understatement. "How many siblings?" Ross asked.

"Oh, six brothers, all younger."

"Do you know where they all are?"

"No. We were split up. No one wanted seven children. Drake was placed with me because he was the youngest and attached to me," her voice wavered slightly as she spoke and she fiddled with the napkin in her lap. It was obvious talking about it was very painful for her.

Desperate to change the subject to anything that would put her at ease again, he blurted out: "I'm writing a novel."

"You are?" Demelza looked up at him with startled wide, shiny eyes.

"Yeah," he said with nod, relieved he'd managed to avert tears. "Well, that's the plan anyway."

She took a moment before continuing. "That's amazing. What's it about?"

Ross told her about his idea for a historical fiction novel based on one of his ancestors who was a Cornwall mine owner and had died at Waterloo in his father's arms. There was a trunk full of letters in the attic he'd discovered by accident about ten years ago that had told the story first hand. "It's all terribly romantic and tragic and all that other rot," he explained, a tad bit embarrassed now that he'd said it out loud. He'd not told another living soul until now.

"I think that's most amazing!" Demelza broke out in a wide smile.

"Really?" It was his turn to be surprised. He'd always figured his idea would be met with skepticism and derision from his family and friends. Caroline would most likely have something choice to say about it all.

"Oh, yes! Have you done much research yet? Waterloo? Napoleon…"

"Yes," he smiled at her enthusiasm and warming with it, "the Napoleonic Wars was my specialty at university so…"

"Kismet," she breathed the word and held his gaze.

"Apparently so." He picked up the glass to down the last of his wine to break the intensity that had suddenly sprung up between them. She was still watching him when he poured himself the last of the bottle.

"I'd be happy to help you with the research," she said sheepishly, getting up to get coffee and pudding. "I'm good at that, being a librarian and all."

"I'm sure you're are." The novel thing was suddenly very real rather than this nebulous thing he'd considered off and on over the years. "I'd appreciate the help."

"Good, but only if you promise to sign my copy when it's published." Demelza set a dish with a generous helping of dessert in front of him.

"I'll give you a copy," he said, sure in the knowledge she would be the only person in the world who would want to read it.

She took her seat across from him again with her own plate. "I will be purchasing a copy thank you very much."

They lapsed into silence once again as Ross set about demolishing two helpings of the apple charlotte. For once the quiet was companionable rather than awkward, or at least he felt that way each time she smiled at him when they caught each other's glances. He feared he was beginning to like Demelza far too much already.

"I can't tell you the last time I had a meal this good," Ross said, leaning back in the wooden chair and barely refrained from patting his over-full stomach. That would just be rude and he was trying to be on his best behavior since Demelza's continued good opinion of him was important. "Why aren't you in a kitchen somewhere instead of a library?"

"I am in a kitchen!" she cried with a laugh. "My kitchen."

"Yeah, but people would pay good money to eat like that." He knew he would in heartbeat. The village girl in charge of the kitchen at Nampara was a passable (just barely) cook. Both he and his father could do with better meals.

She blushed prettily and looked away. "I'll take the compliment. Thank you, but a good strong Irish stout is the secret to steak and mushroom pie."

"Have you ever been to the British Library?" he asked, wanting to keep her talking, finding Demelza's rustic Cornish accent soothing. "Since you like libraries."

"No," she answered.

One eyebrow ticked up. "London?"

This time she frowned to go along with the head shake and he could sense he was starting to tread near the danger zone again. The very last thing he wanted to do was ruin what had turned out to be a quite pleasant evening by upsetting her twice. So he did the only thing he knew to do since he might as well get it over with anyway. "You have to be wondering about this," he said gesturing to the cane leaning against the wall next to him.

Her face softened and she got up to clear the dessert plates from the table. "I do wonder sometimes, but it's not right to assume you want everyone to know."

That gave him pause. Most people were dying to know the particulars beyond what was common knowledge - he served his country and came home injured to an ill father. Oh, and his fiancée tossed him over for his cousin. The cynic in him could scarcely believe her. "Surely you've heard the rumors. Asked Verity?"

"I don't set much store in rumors." She went about the wash up as if this was the most casual conversation in the world. "I believe it is your story to tell if you want me to know."

Ross considered telling her right then, but thought better of it because the gory story behind his limp was best left until they had a chance to know each other better. "Most people are nosy buggers who cannot mind their own business."

"They are that," she agreed, turning to face him and catching him watching her intently, "but I hope you find that I am not one of them."

"No, Demelza, you are most certainly not."


	3. Part III

"Beautiful sunrise isn't it, son?" Ross nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his father's voice coming from the dimly lit sitting room. The first rays of sunlight had barely broken the horizon. He thought he was sneaking out early enough to avoid any questions, but apparently he was so very wrong. "This is the fourth Saturday in a row you've been up and about at the crack of dawn," his father continued with his astute observation. "I wonder, wonder."

"I told you I'm doing some research for something I'm writing," Ross carefully explained, but avoided making eye contact lest his father see straight through him. Technically it wasn't a lie – he _did_ intend to do some research, if time allowed for it.

"Hmm," Joshua mused, obviously not put off the trail, "there was a time not that long ago you couldn't be bothered to put in an appearance before noon on a Saturday."

He had no defense against that because there _was_ a time not long ago he did relish his sleep above all else. This new early-bird-gets-the-worm thing was all Demelza's fault. Who knew there was so much to do so early in the morning on the weekends? He'd been missing out on a whole host of things like craft fairs and farmer's markets. "I know, but I'm serious about this thing I'm researching," Ross admitted.

"Are you now?"

"Yes."

His father look him up and down, clearly unimpressed with his answer. "What is this you're working on?"

"Oh, you know, I told you about it," Ross hedged, trying very hard not to squirm under Joshua's scrutiny. There was nothing worse than feeling like he was five years old again, having been caught with a packet of biscuits just before supper.

"Remind me again, my memory isn't what it once was."

If Ross wasn't mistaken, his father was failing miserably at hiding a smirk. "The Waterloo thing," he said curtly, grabbing for his mobile in his pocket when the incoming text alert sounded and automatically checked the message. It was impossible to keep a stupid smile from spreading across his face. It was nothing more than a simple picture of a breakfast table set for two decorated with festive fall flowers followed by the word "hungry?" Ross glanced up to see his father regarding him closely with shrewd dark eyes that missed absolutely nothing and promptly tried to wipe the smile off of his face.

"It's good to see you interested in 'research' again. It's been a very long time," Joshua commented benignly.

"Yeah," Ross mumbled, having the sinking feeling that his father was now on to him since he could practically hear the air quotes around the word 'research'. They'd come to an unspoken truce a long time ago about his lack of a love life after the Elizabeth debacle. Ross would live his life how he saw fit. His father would mind his own damn business.

"Maybe you'll share this 'research' with me soon." Joshua took a cup of tea from the tray Prudie presented to him with a murmur of thanks. "I'm quite keen on knowing all about it."

"I don't know if it's going anywhere yet," Ross said, panic starting to set in. He was not prepared for the two-pronged attack that he now found himself under since it was obvious his father suspected something. Demelza had already been after him for weeks to bring her around.

"Hmm," his father hummed and dunked a biscuit into his tea. "I don't think you'd waste so much time if you thought it was a dead end."

"No," Ross was forced to agree through gritted teeth, "that would be rather pointless."

"Just as I thought," Joshua said brightly. "So I'd best not keep you."

Ross grabbed up his case, cane, and keys, taking two steps toward the garden door before stopping. He had to say something. "I don't know when I'll be back."

"No worries, son," the older man chuckled, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Stay as late as you like. I won't wait up."

"Ring me if you need anything," Ross added for good measure. "I'll come right home."

"There won't be any need for that," Joshua said with a saucy wink. "I'm in good hands here."

* * *

"I hope you're hungry," Demelza called from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled loudly at the delicious smells wafting from the back of the flat.

"Starving," he answered her, dropping his laptop case in his favorite chair and removing his jacket before continuing down the small hallway. He left his cane resting by door, finding he didn't have much use for it in the small space. Ross took a moment to appreciate the view of her pert backside as she sliced something at the counter. Her glorious red hair was pulled back in a messy knot. "It smells divine whatever it is."

"Sausage and potato frittata and oatmeal bread." She turned to face him, smiling brightly, and it nearly took his breath away. "I just used up what was left over from last evening."

"How very industrious of you, Ms Carne," he teased and took his seat at the table.

"If someone wasn't such a glutton, Mr Poldark, I would've had more sausage." She placed a cast iron skillet down carefully on a trivet before turning back to the counter for a plate of grilled tomatoes and mushrooms and the basket of bread.

"If you weren't such a good cook…" Ross trailed off, dark brows furrowing in a cross between confusion and disgust. There were unexpected and unidentifiable green bits in the egg thing she had made. As a matter of principle, he didn't like to eat things that were green, especially at breakfast. "What is that?"

She took her own seat across from him and set about cutting a very healthy slice of the frittata for him. "What is what?"

"The green stuff?"

"Kale."

"Kale?"

"Try it, you might like it," she stated and handed him his loaded plate. "It's good for you."

Ross pushed a piece of leaf around on his plate with his fork. "I dunno."

"I haven't killed you yet have I?"

"No," he was loathe to admit. He didn't consider himself a finicky eater, but he definitely preferred certain foods. Demelza didn't care. She cooked what she liked and he could eat it or not. He admired that about her.

She regarded him with a smirk for a brief moment before tucking into her plate. "I think I have located Jeremy's commanding officer's papers," Demelza said causally. "There are diaries, apparently."

"What?" His fork clattered to his plate. It was like being sucker punched and getting the best present ever all rolled into one. This was the break he'd been hoping for now that he'd finally gotten serious about actually working on his book rather than just talking about it. A firsthand account of what had taken place that Sunday in June of 1815 would really help him with the details when it came time to write the battle scene.

"I said diaries."

"How?"

Demelza forked up a bit of sausage and egg. "Just did some librarian witch-foo."

"Librarian witch-foo?" Ross inquired with a laugh. She truly had no idea just how adorable she was and it was killing him.

"You heard me."

"That I did. So what is it exactly?"

She shook her head while trying very hard to suppress a smile. "Oh no, that's a trade secret."

"Afraid I might learn to do it myself and have no need for a librarian?" he teased.

"Something like that."

Their eyes met across the table and Ross felt his stomach do a flip flop. It had been happening more and more between them recently and the increasing intensity of it always caught him off guard. Demelza broke the spell after several long heartbeats by clearing her throat.

"Well, the papers are in a small local historical society near Coventry," she continued as she offered him a second helping of the frittata. He hadn't even realized he'd cleared his plate. "It's a good ways away. They're half-days on Saturdays, closed Sundays, Mondays, and all bank holidays."

He nodded for her to go ahead to put the second helping on his plate, knowing full and well he'd just given her carte blanche to serve him kale at will. A little green in his diet wouldn't kill him, or at least that is what Dwight was always trying to tell him. "That makes things difficult, but we've a break coming up. I should be able to arrange something."

"It might take you a couple days to go through everything. The archivist said there is loads of correspondence as well, and military missives."

"It sounds like a treasure trove."

"It does." She got up to start clearing the table and putting her kitchen to rights. The one thing he had learned about Demelza during their short time together was she loathed disorder.

"You should come with me," he blurted out, an idea quickly forming in his mind. She would be ever so helpful in navigating the archives for one, but his real underlying motive was to have her all to himself for a few days away from everyone and everything familiar.

"We could go up for a couple days. See some sights. Eat whatever it is they eat in Coventry. Make some great discoveries. It'll be fun."

She stood frozen, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. "I don't know, Ross."

"Why not?"

"It's just not done. What would people say?" She took his plate to busy herself with scraping the bit of eggs and potatoes he'd left into the compost bin.

"Who cares?" He had to work to keep the frustration out of his voice because he knew how cognizant she was of her position at the school after working so hard to get there. She would do nothing she thought might jeopardize Verity's good opinion of her. Then there was the resident gossip, Ruth Treneglos, to contend with as well.

"I care," she said softly.

"I know you do, Demelza, but you made the discovery. Don't you want to see if it pays off?" he urged, discovering he wanted to share this one thing with her more than anything else in the world.

"You can tell me all about it when you get back."

"Doing the actual research is half the fun."

"I know, but it's your project." She had turned away from him to wash his dish in the sink that was full of lemony scented bubbles so he couldn't read her face, but he could tell from the set of her shoulder she'd made up her mind.

"That I wouldn't be doing if it wasn't for you," he reminded her. He'd done more writing in the month or so he'd known her than he had done in the ten years since the idea first came to him.

"That's not true," she said as she moved about the small space, putting plates and cooking utensils back into their place after drying them with a towel decorated with cutesy little owls. "You would've gotten around to it."

He had to laugh at that. She hadn't known him long enough to understand he could be a world class procrastinator when it came to certain things in his life. "Oh, Demelza, the faith you have in me is so misguided."

"No, it's not." She stopped to lean back against the counter to look at him with serious blue eyes.

"It's not for a few weeks yet," Ross said, backing down a bit before he could truly upset her. There was one thing he could not abide by and that was her tears. "Promise me you'll at least think on it?"

"I promise to think on it," she finally conceded.

* * *

Ross found himself in hell a week later.

Not only was deprived of Demelza's company, he was being subjected to vapid tarts from London and having his every action scrutinized by his best mate's wife at a gathering that had been billed to him as a dinner party. The invitation had been left dangling as if Caroline had expected him to say he wanted to bring someone. He was not ready to share Demelza with anyone just yet. He was selfish like that.

Ross sought refuge in a dark room on the east corridor with a spectacular view of the sculpture garden at Killewarren after suffering through the longest meal of his life. Thankfully copious amounts of alcohol had been flowing all evening otherwise he might have had to do something drastic which would've ended up embarrassing his hosts.

"As bad as all that?" Dwight asked as he slipped into the quiet library and shut the door behind him.

"Do you even have to ask?" Ross slipped his phone back into his pocket before he could read Demelza's latest text. She was the only reason he had been able to tolerate the evening thus far.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Dwight offered.

"I don't think there is enough brain power between the three of them to form a single intelligent thought. Is that what your wife really thinks of me?"

Dwight came to stand beside him at the window. "I tried to warn Caroline you'd not like it, but she insisted."

The phone in his pocket buzzed again just as he snorted his displeasure at his friend's words. His finger itched to grab it so he could see what amusing thing Demelza had sent him now. "She needs to stop."

"She only wants to see you happy, Ross."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "I know. It's the only reason I've not murdered her yet."

"I appreciate that." Dwight patted his shoulder in commiseration.

"I figured you would," Ross said dryly. As much as he enjoyed Dwight's company most of the time, he just really wanted his friend to go away so he could respond to Demelza.

"Caroline was rather hoping you'd take enough shine to one of them to get yourself laid."

Ross closed his eyes and counted to twenty before he spoke. "Please tell me you're fucking joking."

"I told her you'd be rather put out," Dwight conceded, "but she means well, really."

"Means well?" he growled, knowing he was not going to like whatever answer was to come out of his mate's mouth.

Dwight put on his best soothing doctor's voice; the one he reserved for giving bad news like you've only two days to live. "You could use some female companionship without the strings attached."

"I'm fine, thanks." Ross rubbed that little spot between his eyes that was starting to throb. He was definitely not going to tell Demelza about this when they compared notes about their respective weekends.

"She had this notion, silly really, that you had a shag buddy," Dwight chuckled.

Ross's hard look choked the laugh into silence. "A what?"

"To be fair, you've been unavailable with increasing frequency these past few weeks."

"I've been doing research."

"I told Caroline that there was no way, but she wasn't convinced until she ran afoul of your mood."

"My mood?" Ross all but spluttered, although he shouldn't have been surprised at Caroline's conclusion. That was just how her mind worked.

"Yes," his mate said, suddenly finding the pattern in the old Turkish carpet very interesting, "she figured if you had someone tucked away you'd not be so grumpy because you'd be getting shagged regularly."

"What the actual fuck?"

"I did try to warn her, but you know how she can be when she sets her mind to something."

"How well I know." Ross scrubbed his hands over his face, grumbling the whole while. Was it any wonder he wasn't ready to share Demelza with his closest friends? Caroline would most definitely get the wrong impression and he would never hear the end of it. Dwight would be caught in the middle. And Demelza...she'd be completely mortified.

"I'm leaving," he said after finally making up his mind. "Please give my apologies to Caroline for my great escape." He just wanted to go home, have a stiff drink, and text back and forth with Demelza for the rest of the night.

"I'll ring you tomorrow, yeah?" Dwight asked while unlatching the French doors for Ross to slip out without being seen. "I'll talk to Caroline. This won't happen again, I promise."

* * *

He wasn't sure how it all started, this meeting secretly in the stacks, sometimes during his planning period and other times during the lunch hour. They mixed it up to throw Verity off their trail. It started out innocently enough as a little game, but then it had become their thing. He enjoyed the feeling of sneaking around under everyone's noses for few purloined minutes with Demelza during the workday. It was most exciting.

Which in turn lead directly to him being completely unable to stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss her. He found her attractive to be sure, tall and slender, with legs that seemed like they went on for miles. She mostly wore knee length skirts at work, but the skinny jeans she wore when they took in a film the previous Friday night was enough to nearly slay him. She was awkward and adorable, prone to hopping or skipping along, singing all the while when she was happy. It was all very endearing.

And Ross found himself wasting a lot of his free time out of her company wondering if her natural joyfulness would rub off on him. It had to because that much happiness could not be contained in just one person. It just couldn't. She was definitely an inspiration if her life had been half as bad as he imagined from what little he could gather.

"Hullo," she staged whispered, hopping to a stop right in front of him in the middle of the German literature section, a stunning smile lit her entire being. Thankfully no one would bother them there.

It felt so good to be in her presence again after having to forgo her company all weekend. The constant texting helped a little. "Hullo, yourself," he said more gruffly than he intended.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, blue eyes twinkling with delight. He knew she knew he did. She had missed him too. She'd had said so. Twice. Not that he was counting or anything.

"Not in the least."

"Liar."

"You're in an exceptionally good mood. Had a good visit with your brother did you?" He'd found having to share her, even with her brother, was not something he particularly cared for at all.

"Oh yes! Drake is doing very well!" She rocked on the balls of her feet, unable to contain herself. "He's been invited to show his term project at an engineering conference in London."

"That's impressive?"

"I'd dearly love to go, but, well, you know." She smiled ruefully.

Her nearly dire financial situation was no secret by this point. She was sacrificing everything for her brother to get the best education possible. Ross did what he could without embarrassing her, but it was times like these that he wished he could do more. She should be in London to see her brother's triumph. "Is he set then?"

She nodded and he could see the relief on her face. "Yes, it's fully funded by the London School of Engineering."

"That's good at least."

"Yes." She straightened up a shelf of books that didn't need it as she spoke. "Enough about me. What did you do this weekend?"

"Nothing much really. Had dinner with some friends. I was bored out of my mind." There was no way in hell Ross was going to tell her he'd spent Saturday evening fending off the advances of three women determined to shag him senseless.

"More boring than hanging about my flat?" she inquired, watching for his response out of the corner of her eye.

"It's not boring, Demelza," he was quick to reassure her and was rewarded with one of her special smiles. "Never ever think that."

"Did you get any writing done at least?" She was always on him about working on his book. It wasn't nagging exactly, but it was almost as if she had a vested interest in him finishing as much as he had. She wanted to know how the story ended was what she'd always say when he balked.

"No, but I did talk to my father about the letters on Sunday afternoon. It was useful I think. He enlightened me on the family tree."

"That's good." Demelza leaned back against the stacks and looked up at him, the open invitation was obvious.

"There's some rather scandalous history there," Ross bragged to distract himself from gawking at her lovely form on display in front of him. The light blue jumper clung to her figure just so and it was distracting.

Demelza perked up. "Is there now?"

"Oh, yes, Jeremy's mother was a scullery maid in his father's employ and later married on a whim."

"That is rather scandalous."

"Papa said she went on to become a well-respected lady in the district."

"Speaking of your father," Demelza said, turning big doe eyes on him that made his knees weak enough he had to put a hand on a shelf to keep himself steady. "When do I get to meet him?"

"Never," he said with a good-natured huff, trying to play it off. Truth be told, he just wasn't ready to deal with all that would entail. "I don't want to scare you off."

"He cannot be that bad."

"You don't know him like I do." Meaning that he didn't want competition for Demelza's attentions because as soon as his father set eyes on her, it was going to be over for him. His father's legendary pursuit of the beautiful women in the district had come to halt with his stroke, but Demelza might be enough to rouse him from hibernation. Joshua had had a way with women that somehow had not rubbed off on Ross and he didn't want to tempt fate.

"I don't know him at all," she complained and gave him a cold shoulder, "and I want to see Nampara too."

"You will," he said, buckling under immediately, anything to make her happy. "Soon. I promise. I'll take you out there one weekend soon. You can meet Papa and see the house."

She leaned back against the stacks again, tucking her hands behind her and smiling now that she'd won her concession from him. He truly was a lamb to slaughter when it came to her. "And the beach?" she prodded.

"If you like, but I will warn you it's cold and nasty this time of year and the sea is rough." He'd worry about how to negotiate the steep set of stairs that lead down to the beach when the time came.

"I bet it's beautiful."

"It is," he agreed, knowing it was true. Autumn was his favorite time of year with the often broiling grey skies and heavy surf crashing into the rugged rocks. It was as beautiful as it was savage.

"I should get back before Verity comes looking for me." She reached for his hand. "It wouldn't do for her to catch us in the stacks. She might get the wrong idea."

"I got the lemon biscuits you left in my box this morning. Thank you," he said giving her small hand a quick squeeze before letting go. It was how they parted ways.

Demelza lingered a moment, not moving, with their hands barely touching. "I know they're your favorite," she said simply, leaning up to press a quick feather-light kiss his cheek before hurriedly disappearing into the maze of book stacks.

He lingered for a while longer in stunned silence, fingers pressed against the tingling spot where her soft lips had touched his skin.

* * *

Recipes for the food mentioned in the chapter:

Sausage, potato, and kale frittata

recipes/potato-sausage-and-kale-frittata

Oatmeal bread

recipes/oatmeal-toasting-and-sandwich-bread-recipe

Lemon biscuits

/recipe/10568/lemon-chewy-crisps/


End file.
